"She is not in the Campo Formosa, signore." Bettina, recovering her scattered wits, laughed.
"But you were—last night."
"Yes. I watched you and your friend for some time." Bettina's eyes were merry. She would play with him. Everything was so tedious now.
"Your mistress is in Venice."
"Perhaps. At least her maid is."
"I should not dare suggest a bribe," he said slyly.
"You might make the attempt, just to see what I should do."
Merrihew stood watching them, having lost interest in the doves.
"Supposing I should drop a hundred-lire note, accidentally, and walk away?" Hillard twisted the ends of his mustache.
"But first I should have to tell you, accidentally, where my mistress is?"